Suffer the Little Children
by illuminata79
Summary: Mick makes some new friends and rediscovers a long-hidden side of himself.
1. Chapter 1

Mick makes new friends, some of them very young, and finds he still has a way with children.

Written in loving memory of my father who gave me the gift of music and so much love.

This one's for you, Dad, and for all the nights you sang me to sleep.

The song I chose to go with this story is **Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel) **by **Billy Joel.** It reminds me beautifully of my childhood, and it sparked off the initial idea for this story.

_Goodnight, my angel  
__Time to close your eyes  
__And save these questions for another day  
__I think I know what you've been asking me  
__I think you know what I've been trying to say  
__I promised I would never leave you  
__And you should always know  
__Wherever you may go  
__No matter where you are  
__I never will be far away_

_Goodnight, my angel  
__Now it's time to sleep  
__And still so many things I want to say  
__Remember all the songs you sang for me  
__When we went sailing on an emerald bay  
__And like a boat out on the ocean  
__I'm rocking you to sleep  
__The water's dark and deep  
__Inside this ancient heart  
__You'll always be a part of me_

_Goodnight, my angel  
__Now it's time to dream  
__And dream how wonderful your life will be  
__Someday your child may cry  
__And if you sing this lullaby  
__Then in your heart  
__There will always be a part of me_

_Someday we'll all be gone  
__But lullabies go on and on...  
__They never die  
__That's how you  
__And I  
__Will be_

* * *

_February 1948_

As I was descending the steep flagstone stairs outside Johnstone's grocery store, carefully minding my steps, a small figure came dashing along the sidewalk at high speed and stopped to wait until I had safely reached street level.

"Good morning, Mister!" A gap-toothed boy's face grinned up at me. "Do you remember me?"

"Why, sure", I said, earnestly reaching out to shake his hand. "Good morning, Conrad. Nice to see you again."

"And you! Will you tell me about the sharks now?" he asked, his eyes shining bright. "Please!"

His father caught up with us at that moment, panting a little. "_There_ you are! I've been l-looking for you everywhere! Why …"

"Look, Daddy, I found the shark man!" the boy cried out proudly. "Isn't that grand!"

The man appeared a little mortified and unsure of what to say. When he finally spoke, it was in an apologetic tone. "H-hello again. And s-sorry. I hope Conrad isn't g-getting on your nerves. He w-was so f-f-fascinated with those sharks you m-mentioned when…"

"Oh, not to worry", I said. "They _are_ quite fascinating creatures. Look, Conrad, I've got to go now, I'm urgently expected home with these veggies, but I'll tell you about the sharks another time, okay?"

"Okay", Conrad nodded, even though his face fell.

I felt a trifle guilty at his disappointment and tried to think of something reassuring to say. "I'm sure we'll meet again soon. Are you living somewhere around here?"

"Just down the road", said the father, pointing. "I w-wasn't aware that we're neighbours, kind of."

"Me neither. What a nice coincidence", I said and added, "Sorry, I really gotta go now. See you soon, I hope!"

With a little wave, I set off on my way home, swinging the bag of groceries from my hand as I walked. I really hoped it wouldn't be long until I met the inquisitive kid again who was so refreshingly unafraid to address me.

A few days later, Conrad and his dad happened to show up at the bus station when I was waiting for my connection on my way home from work.

Again, the boy greeted me joyfully, and his father didn't appear too embarrassed on his behalf this time but said, "How nice to meet again. And s-sorry that I've never introduced myself p-properly. Joseph Schell."

"Mick Carpenter", I said and shook his hand, exchanging some niceties while Conrad fidgeted excitedly, waiting for his chance to speak up.

"Mr. Carpenter, will you …"

"You'll have your sharks today", I said, laughing. "There's the bus, let's get on."

Conrad happily installed himself in the free seat next to me and listened, rapt and big-eyed, as I told him about the small and rather harmless species of shark living in the waters off the islands where I had sometimes encountered them when I was out diving.

As the bus turned the last corner, Conrad said, "You know, Mr. Carpenter, it's my ninth birthday next Saturday, and I'm having a party. Can you come, too?" With a hasty glance at his father, he added, "It's okay if he comes, isn't it, Dad? You said I could invite whoever I want."

"Sure", his father nodded. "I'm sure your m-mum won't mind. If Mr. Carpenter wants to come, that is." And, to me, sensing my hesitation to intrude on their celebration, "Really, feel free to drop by. And b-bring your wife, too."

"It'll be my pleasure", I said solemnly. "Thanks for the invitation, Conrad!"

He bounced off merrily alongside his father with an exuberance that made me smile.

"I just got us invited for a party", I told Evelyn as I came home. "A ninth birthday party."

"You _what?"_ She gave me an amused, puzzled look, then laughed as she understood. "Oh, I see. Your little rock-throwing friend?"

"Exactly."

She smiled. "What's the verdict? Are we going?"

"I think we are. He was really adamant that I … that we come." I grinned wryly. "Well, I've always wanted to be the guest of honour among a bunch of nine-year-olds."

"I'm sure that will make for a nice change." She grinned, then frowned thoughtfully. "We'll need a gift, won't we?"

"Yup." I saw that she was beginning to wonder about the perfect gift for a schoolboy and quickly said, "Oh, don't you worry. I'll take care of that. I already have an idea."

She was almost bursting with curiosity as to what I had in mind, but I only said it was something money couldn't buy and otherwise just smiled enigmatically whenever she asked.

I wasn't sure if it was actually going to work, and for some odd reason didn't want to let her in on my plan until I had the result I wanted.

The following week, I spent virtually every free minute that she wasn't home whittling away at small bits of firewood, casting aside numerous bungled pieces before I was satisfied.

In the end, she walked in on me as I was just putting the finishing touches on a three-inch long beechwood shark. A great white, of course, not the innocuous and rather ugly epaulette sharks that had occasionally accompanied me in the Trobriands, weird little creatures that didn't look like sharks at all.

I was so absorbed in my work that I didn't hear her approach the garden bench where I sat and only looked up when her shadow fell across my lap and blocked out the light.

"So _that's_ what you're giving him?" she asked, apparently astonished, and bent forward to take a closer look. "A shark. Obviously. Can I …"

I shook my head. "It's not quite finished yet. Just wait a bit."

I took my time to carve the second eye and sharpen the edges of the tailfin and finally cut a sardonic grin into the little predator's face.

"Now he's complete."

I held him out to Evelyn on my open palm, and she carefully ran a finger along his back and said, "You never cease to surprise me, Mister Mick. I had no idea you were such an artist with a carving knife."

"Neither had I. Well, I used to be quite good at it when I was a kid, but I hadn't done anything for ages."

There was something soft and wishful in her eyes that made me ask, "Want one too?"

"Sure. Can I watch while you …"

"No, you can't", I said firmly. "Don't be so impatient. Give me an hour, will you? And maybe a beer?"

An hour and two cold beers later, I beckoned her to come over from where she was lying in a deckchair, reading through a stack of journals.

I kept my hand closed around the small carving until she had sat down by my side with an expectant look on her face.

On a whim, I said, "Close your eyes."

"Huh?"

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

She did as she was told, although she probably thought I was being rather silly.

"I want to see if you find out what it is without looking at it."

I placed the little thing in her palm, and she fingered it with her other hand, gently tracing its outline, exploring its shape, thinking for a moment before she exclaimed, "Of course!" Her eyes popped open, and she smiled her sunniest smile as she repeated, "Of course it's a pearl shell. Oh, Mick, that's so beautiful. Yes, this is a gift money can't buy."

Her fascinated face was just as adorably innocent and childlike as it had been when I had shown her a pearl shell, freshly opened, for the first time, and I loved her as much as I had loved her then, or even more.

I pulled her close and kissed her tenderly on the temple, grateful she was with me still. Or rather, again.

* * *

Conrad had half a dozen friends from school over for his party, and we could hear them long before we turned the corner as they were noisily horsing around on the strip of lawn in front of the Schells' modest home.

The birthday boy himself was dangling from the branch of a tree by his knees at the time we arrived and gave an ear-splitting shout when he spied us coming.

"Oooh! Look, there he _is!_ My shark man!" he cried out as he jumped down and came racing towards us jubilantly, his little horde of young guests in tow, all but flinging himself at me the moment we entered the garden. "Come and sit with us, Mr. Carpenter, and tell us about the sharks!"

Thus besieged, I had no chance of making it to the table set up beside the house, not even when Evelyn eventually walked over with Mr. and Mrs. Schell, who had both got up to greet us, and joined the small party of adults gathered there, consisting of Conrad's parents, another couple more or less our age, and an elderly lady.

To my hosts' apparent horror, I remained sitting on the edge of the front porch almost all afternoon, surrounded by seven eager schoolkids, the plate of birthday cake Mrs. Schell had brought me with a shy apologetic smile largely untouched on my knee and a cup of coffee going tepid beside me. The boys took turns admiring Conrad's wooden shark and kept asking for more details and yet another adventurous story whenever I stopped talking.

From where she sat, Mrs. Schell kept casting wary glances into my direction from time to time, rather embarrassed that the children were beleaguering me like that, but I did not mind at all.

In fact, I thoroughly enjoyed being around the kids, more than I would have enjoyed sitting at the table with the adult guests, making polite adult conversation.

I appreciated their honesty, their curiosity and even their bluntness. They were straightforward, unspoiled and open-minded, often much more so than their grown-up counterparts.

It was exhilarating to talk adventure with these boys, who couldn't seem to get enough of my life as a sailor and as a pearl diver and even found my fishing anecdotes exciting.

One of them inquired about the war, if I had been a soldier.

I said that I had, but it had been a very sad and scary experience, not at all exciting in the adventurous sense, and I didn't like to speak of it.

Most of the kids seemed to be aware I was serious about that.

Only one of them, a big broad lad called Arthur, said, "You know what, my brother Arnie, he's been in the war, too, and he got shot in the backside!" Raucous laughter from half of the boys, and groans and eye-rolling from the other half. "They stitched him up and he went right back to battle. Now he's got a great big scar on his bum, _and_ a couple of nice medals! Did you get wounded, too, Mister?"

"_Leave_ him, Arthur", Conrad hissed before I could say something. "He said that he didn't want to talk about it, and we all know about your stupid brother and his stupid bullet in the ass! You've told us a million times! Sorry, Mr. Carpenter", he said, turning to me and lowering his voice, "sometimes Arthur's simply … dumb." He glared at his guest, and one of them gave Arthur an angry shove.

"Boys, come on, no fighting please", I said. Arthur's lip had begun to tremble suspiciously, and I quickly added, "To answer your question, Arthur: yes, I got wounded in the thigh."

I could see the twitch around Conrad's mouth and subtly shook my head. I didn't want him to blurt out that there wasn't much left of said thigh. Still, he began, "And that's why he's got a …"

"… a bad leg and a bit of a limp", I said in a tone that would hopefully make quite clear this was the last word I was going to say about the war. And I hoped to God my sock was well pulled up to cover what it was supposed to cover and my trouser leg wouldn't hike up. I had no desire to be the greatest attraction of the party because I really and truly had an artificial leg, something I guessed most of the kids had only ever heard or read of in pirate stories and the like.

Detecting a movement from the corner of my eye, I turned my head and looked across the lawn.

Conrad's little brother came waddling over the grass on plump bare legs, a crumbling biscuit in his hand. Halfway across the lawn, he slipped, flopping down hard on his well-rounded backside. I expected him to cry, but he scrambled back on his feet without flinching and continued towards his brother, beaming.

Conrad was not amused. "_Henry!"_ he groaned, exasperated. "What are _you_ doing here? Go back to Mom and Dad!"

Henry, unfazed, clung to his big brother's leg, dropping the biscuit in the process, and held on tightly as Conrad looked about, visibly ashamed of being subjected to such a childish show of affection in front of his buddies.

On an impulse, I held my arms out to the little one who by some strange coincidence bore my father's name, and after he had given me the once-over with his head cocked to one side, he apparently decided I was trustworthy, grinned and clambered into my lap.

I shifted him gently to sit on my good leg, loosely wrapped my arm around his middle and let him examine my wristwatch as I continued with yet another sailor's tale for the older boys.

"D-Don't you want to try out your new football at all, Conrad?" another voice chimed in after a while.

Joseph Schell was emerging from the shadow of the large tree in the middle of the lawn and laid a cautious hand on his son's shoulder. "M-Mr. Carpenter could use a break from all your curious questions, I suppose. G-go play behind the house for a while. There's f-fresh l-lemonade for everyone, too."

"Awww, but Daddy …"

"No buts, Conrad. It was very nice of Mr. Carpenter to t-talk to you for so long, but now I would l-like to have a word with him." He winked at the cluster of boys still seated at my feet. "Oh, I forgot to t-tell you something. I think C-Conrad's mum said there _might_ be s-some ice cream, too. Who wants to go see if I'm right?"

Cheering and howling, the kids took off, and Mr. Schell sat down next to me.

"Thanks for entertaining the boys, Mr. Carpenter", he said. "You're quite a f-fine storyteller to keep them l-listening for so long. Usually all of them g-get ants in their pants after five minutes of sitting still."

"Give them some sharks and ships and storms and they're happy, as it seems", I said, carefully extracting my finger from Henry's firm grip, trying not to wake him in the process. At some point during my stories, he had slumped against my chest and fallen asleep, still clutching my hand.

His father looked at him with an affectionate expression on his face and smiled. "Someone's knackered there. He's been running all over the place all day long. Shall I take him off you, Mr. Carpenter? He's grown quite heavy lately."

"No, I'm fine", I said, meaning it. The weight of the child in my arms, his little head of soft brown hair against my chest and his dangling sleep-heavy limbs gave me a peculiar warm feeling, and for a split second, I wondered wistfully if I'd ever hold a child of my own. "Really, leave him where he is. And please do me a favour and just call me Mick."

"I'm Joseph, then."

I nodded and stroked Henry's smooth round cheek, still feeling that odd kind of tenderness. "That's two fine lads you've got, Joseph", I said.

"Yes, they are g-great kids, even if I say so myself." Joseph laughed. "Funny how Henry ran straight to you. He's usually rather c-cautious around strangers. Conrad, well, _he'd _talk the ear off anyone who would l-listen. I s-sometimes even think he's a little too outgoing. Henry's very d-different, usually. I've n-never seen him s-so drawn to anyone who's not f-family. S-somehow you hit it off with him."

Henry began to move until he was in a half sitting positing, facing up, and his big blue eyes opened to eye me, curious but unafraid. I smiled at him, and his face split into a charming grin once more before he wriggled off my lap and scampered away, presumably in pursuit of Conrad and his pals.

I watched him disappear around the corner of the house, again with this funny feeling in my heart.

"You d-don't have children, do you?" Joseph's voice interrupted my thoughts before I could put a name to the strange sensation that intensified upon hearing his question.

I shook my head slowly, silently.

We had never actually made a concrete decision about starting a family, but there was a kind of unspoken understanding that there would be no kids in all likelihood. Evelyn was quite tied up in her job and happy with her teaching and writing, and on the other hand there was my disability to consider which made a whole lot of things I would want do for or with a child quite difficult or entirely impossible.

Joseph refrained from any comment and tactfully changed the subject. "I h-heard what you t-told the boys w-when they a-asked you about the … the war. M-my thoughts exactly, after my own experience in the army. I r-really wish m-more people would tell them the t-truth like that and not m-make it sound like s-some b-b-big exciting adventure. I'm s-so afraid m-my boys will h-have to g-g-go to war s-some day, and I d-d-don't want them t-to think it's a g-g-good or easy thing to do", he said with great emphasis, his hands clenching into fists angrily every time his stutter hampered his speech. I wondered briefly if he had already suffered from that impediment before he went to war.

"I couldn't have played the subject down in good conscience, not with this", I said, nodding at my leg. "From the way some people talk about it, going to war sounds hardly more dangerous than playing Cowboys and Indians in the schoolyard, with a few funny stories to tell afterwards and some shiny medals to show off with. That's not what I wanted the kids to think. They don't need to know the gory details at their age, but they are old enough to understand that war isn't a game."

Two of Conrad's friends were chasing each other across the garden, whooping loudly.

My throat constricted as I watched their carefree exuberance and realized that some of the boys I had seen getting wounded or killed hadn't even been a decade older than these insouciant kids were.

I swallowed hard and said as an afterthought, "I certainly wouldn't want my son to go either."

If I had a son, I added silently.

Before we could go on with our somewhat somber exchange, Conrad appeared, dragging along his little brother, who was bleeding from a grazed knee and crying wretchedly, and deposited him unceremoniously at his father's feet, stating laconically, "He fell. Again."

Joseph excused himself to take care of the child – "M-My wife can't stand the sight of blood, so I'll have to d-do that" – and I was alone with my thoughts for a moment, absently sipping my cold coffee.

I hoped we'd get to continue talking later. I found liked this Joseph Schell a lot, and not only because he seemed to share my view that war was a dirty, ugly, senseless business, nothing heroic and patriotic, nothing to be proud of.

And I found I loved to be with both of his kids. Their antics, their lively characters and even their little worries and needs struck a chord within me, and the way their father cared.

Yet I was sure it would be better to stick with the silent agreement Evelyn and I had.

What good was a father with a leg missing and his mind forever screwed up by the war, so much that he freaked out when he got hit with a harmless pebble?

I'd only end up screwing up my kid's life, too, because I couldn't rid myself of the shadows of the past. Bad enough that Evelyn was forced to endure my recurring episodes of abject depression or physical pain.

Maybe playing uncle to the young Schells would take away the sting for a while, I thought and smiled at Conrad who was approaching me.

I set the half-emptied cup aside as he drew near, dirt all over him, his knees bright green from skidding over the grass. He had just seen off his crowd of little guests and was beaming at me.

I got up stiffly, grateful to walk a few steps and stretch my cramped legs, and said, "So the party's over? Thanks again for inviting us, my friend. I think we'll be off then, too."

"Nooo, please stay a bit longer! Mum wanted everyone to leave at six, but of course that was just about the _kids_. Granny and Uncle Fred and Aunt Cecilia are still there after all. You know, I think Mum doesn't like children's parties much. All the work, and all the noise, and too many kids around." He rolled his eyes. "Me, I love parties. And today's was the best one ever."

"You think so?" I asked with genuine interest.

"But of course!" he exclaimed. "And you know why?" He paused expectantly and, when I didn't answer, cried out, "Because of _you."_

As if it was the most self-evident thing in the world.

"Oh, Conrad", I said weakly and gave his shoulder a quick affectionate squeeze, trying not to show too much emotion.

"Are you okay? You have such a funny look on your face."

"I'm fine, no worries. Just a … a little tired. You know, there were some kids who made me tell an awful lot of stories."

Conrad grinned at me without a trace of remorse and said in the knowing tone of an experienced grown-up, "You think a nice cold beer will put things right?"

I couldn't help laughing and gladly let him take my hand and lead me over to the table.


	2. Chapter 2

_May 1948_

"Hello, handsome."

Her voice and a kiss on the forehead woke me from a dazed slumber and made me realize that I had actually dozed off in the armchair, lulled by the warmth of the fire.

I shook myself, a little embarrassed, and smiled up at her wearily. "Oh, hello, Professor. How was your day?"

"Long, mainly", she replied and loosed the green paisley scarf she had tied around her hair, stuffing it carelessly into the pocket of her rain-spattered coat. "And cold!" She unbuttoned the coat and had already shrugged out of one sleeve when she stopped in her tracks and took a closer look first at me, then at the floor beside me. Count on her to find the fault in the picture in under a minute.

"Anything wrong?" she asked, nodding at the crutches lying next to my chair.

"The leg's been a bitch ever since I got out of bed this morning", I replied, massaging it gently. "It's one of these days again." From time to time, it gave me hell when the weather changed, often so much that I temporarily preferred to go without the prosthetic leg and put up with the limitations associated with the crutches.

"No wonder, what with that dreadful weather. You know what, I'll fix us a bite to eat, we'll eat in peace and quiet and then simply turn in early. How does that sound?"

"Absolutely perfect", I said.

I meant it, but couldn't help observing with a certain sarcasm how dramatically my concept of perfection had altered since I had more or less got used to a life minus one leg.

Evelyn left the room to change out of her brown wool suit, and I leaned back, gazing into the fire, thinking of nothing at all, just watching the flames flicker and twist.

The shrill ringing of the telephone disturbed the peace, startling me.

Had I been alone, I'd have chosen to simply ignore it, but I heard Evelyn hurry into the hall to pick up the receiver.

"Hello? Who's this?" … "Oh, it's you. Sorry, I didn't …" … "What? Oh dear. How awful." … "Yes, of course. Be there in a minute." … "I should think Mick will take care of that.." … "No, he certainly won't mind. We'll be right over."

There went my prospect of a quiet restful evening and of calming down my troublesome leg, I felt.

Evelyn came in, looking worried, and proved me right. "Bad news, I'm afraid. That was Emma Schell on the phone. Conrad has fallen very ill suddenly, appendicitis or something. Emma's really beside herself, and Joseph is away on business. I've promised to drive them to the hospital because Emma's got no licence. And, uh … do you think you can come along and look after Henry a bit? It would be awkward if we had to take him with us."

"Sure." I pushed myself up from the chair, suppressing a sigh, and gathered up the crutches. "Just let me get the leg and put on a coat. Hope poor Conrad's not too bad."

I was somewhat surprised that Emma Schell had phoned us for help. While a strong friendship had evolved between Joseph and myself and we saw each other regularly for a drink or two and a good long chat, Emma had always remained distant and a trifle wary, talking little, just watching me with her dark disturbing eyes. I had never had the impression that she particularly liked or trusted me, and she hadn't seemed to take a great liking to Evelyn either on the few occasions they had met. But then, we were living so close to their home that ringing us was the most sensible option short of calling an ambulance.

We were on our way within less than five minutes and found Emma waiting by the door, on the verge of tears.

She led us into Conrad's room. He was in bed, doubled over under the covers, his face contorted pitifully. He hardly noticed me when I touched his cheek, there was only the faintest flicker of recognition in his eyes.

I stepped aside with a lump in my throat, sitting down on the chair in the opposite corner of the room to take the weight off my smarting leg, and watched Emma bend over her son, patting his cheek to rouse him from apathy.

"Conrad, I'm sorry, but you'll have to get up", she told him in an authoritative tone that couldn't entirely mask her fears. "We have to take you to the hospital. Evelyn's driving us, but you'll have to walk to the car. Can you do that?"

He gave a tiny brave nod and tried to obey, but failed. "No, Mummy", he said in a miserable, small voice. "I can't. It hurts too much."

"Conrad, _please_ … give it another try, will you? You're way too big and too heavy for us to carry you."

The boy gritted his teeth and struggled once more to sit up. "I can't", he wailed with tears in his eyes. "Please, Mum …"

Emma shook her head desperately. "Conrad, I can't help it, you have to …"

"Let me do that", I said on an impulse and rose clumsily, wincing as my leg flared up.

Emma pierced me with one of her questioning looks. I knew what she was thinking.

I bit back a harsh answer and just gave her a reassuring nod. Yes, I might be crippled, but carrying a skinny nine-year-old down the corridor still wasn't out of my scope.

"Come on, mate. Let's get you out of here." I picked Conrad up carefully, and he held on to my neck weakly, uttering a small tormented whimper.

His limp body and our slow, halting progress, hampered by my useless leg, gave me an eerie sense of déjà vu, a vivid recollection of another boy, not much bigger than Conrad, slack in my arms, pained and frightened.

I tried not to think of Richard and what had happened when I had wanted to carry him to safety, tried to concentrate on the task at hand, but I couldn't shake a subliminal feeling of danger that made my pulse quicken and my senses go on alert.

Evelyn had opened the front door, and the cold bracing night air rushed in, dispelling the memory, bringing reality back. There was nothing to fear. This time I would accomplish my mission. It was only through the corridor and into the street, not a mile through enemy-infested jungle.

With Evelyn's help, I got Conrad into the back seat of the car and covered him with a blanket.

Emma had been at my heels, and was already in the passenger seat, about to close the door, when I realized I hadn't seen Henry anywhere. A string of questions suddenly raced through my mind, and I shouted, "Emma, wait a minute … where's the little one?"

"Asleep, in my bed. I didn't want him in the kids' bedroom with Conrad so poorly."

"Fine, but what … oh well …" My words trailed off unheard as she slammed the door shut mid-sentence and gestured for Evelyn to get going, which she did, pulling away from the curb at considerable speed.

I stood and watched the car turn the corner, supporting myself heavily on a fencepost. My leg was ablaze, and I cursed myself for not having thought to bring the cane.

Trying to put as little weight on the leg as I could, I slowly made my way back inside to look for my young charge, hesitating in the corridor. It didn't feel right to enter Joseph and Emma's bedroom, intruding on their privacy, but if I was to play the babysitter tonight, I needed to check on Henry and make sure he was alright.

Quietly, I pushed open the door that Emma had left ajar and was surprised to find the boy not in bed but half inside the wardrobe, fully engrossed in pulling down his father's ties from their rack one by one. I thanked my lucky stars that he had not strangled himself with one of them or got himself trapped inside the large cupboard.

"Hey, Henry", I said in a low voice, leaning against the door frame to take the strain off my leg. "Taking stock of Daddy's wardrobe?"

He whirled round to face me, somewhat puzzled at first, then, as he recognized me, broke into a beguiling smile. "Oooh, Mick!" he cried out and left his colourful assortment of ties to throw his arms around my good leg, as he had taken to doing every time he saw me.

Holding on to the doorjamb with one hand to keep my balance, I hugged him tightly to my side and ruffled his hair, marveling at how the kid, caught up in his own small world, managed to stay completely unaware of his brother's ordeal and his mother's sorrow. I decided not to tell him that Mummy wasn't home unless he asked. Ignorance is bliss, as they say.

I let him run free around the place for a while to keep him occupied, sincerely hoping he wouldn't fall and hurt himself. Of course, he was quick to realize that Mummy and Daddy and Conrad weren't there and wanted to know where they had gone off to, but at least he didn't get tearful.

"Daddy's making a little journey, and Conrad got sick, so Mummy and Evelyn have gone to take him to the doctor's", I explained. "They'll be back very soon. Until then, it's just the two of us. Shall we play a bit?"

He nodded eagerly, not seeming all too bothered by his family's absence. I let him drag me into the boys' bedroom, where he proudly showed me his toys, and helped him carry two boxes of building blocks into the living room.

He plonked himself down in the middle of the carpet, emptied out the first box with a tremendous crash and said, "Come, Mick. Sit here."

"Good heavens, Henry … don't make an old crippled man sit on the floor. I'll never get up again if I do." I went searching for something suitable to perch on and found a low footstool in the kitchen. The position was still rather uncomfortable, but if I stretched out my leg to one side, it was halfway bearable as long as Henry didn't bump into it, which happened a couple of times in the heat of the moment.

Apart from that, I found it quite enjoyable to engage in some simple child's play.

The last time I had done something similar must have been back in Missouri with my sisters, almost twenty years ago.

Henry and I spent well over an hour constructing a whole little village from his colorful bricks. I was surprised just how much time had passed when I glanced at my watch. It was half past eight already, and I wondered if I ought to put him to bed soon.

Henry had other priorities. He crowned his last house with a red triangular block and declared matter-of-factly that he was hungry.

_God_. I hadn't even thought of that. The trouble with my leg and the agitation about Conrad's illness had left me without much appetite myself, and Emma had been too preoccupied with her eldest to give me any clear instructions. A fine babysitter, I was.

"Sure you are", I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. "Let me see what we've got, and we'll have a nice little boys' dinner before I tuck you into bed."

I went into the kitchen, again feeling like an unbidden intruder when I inspected various cupboards and the refrigerator to find all I needed to make some sandwiches.

Henry happily ate his supper and obediently went to put on his pajamas and brush his teeth, but when I wanted him to crawl into bed, he protested and remained sitting on the edge of the mattress. "I want Mummy now", he said dolefully and shed some tears after all.

"Mummy's still with Conrad", I said, sat down next to him and put my arm around his shoulder. "Don't you cry, pal. She'll be home soon. She'll be there when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Thus reassured, he finally lay down, pulled the covers up to his chin and squeezed his eyes shut.

I didn't leave my post, not wanting him to be alone until he had gone to sleep. I waited until he was breathing very regularly, then I rose and sneaked out quietly to return into the living room and rest my aching leg at long last.

I had just taken off my shoes and stretched out on the sofa with a book from the Schells' well-equipped bookcase when the door opened.

"Mick?" a small voice said just behind my head.

I jerked around. Henry was peering up at me, somewhat accusingly, a worn teddy bear dangling upside down from his hand.

"Yes?" I swung my legs from the sofa and sat up to face him.

"I can't sleep."

"Just give it another try, mate. It's late enough."

"But Conrad's not there. I can't sleep when I'm alone."

"You're not alone. I'll come and stay right there with you until your mummy comes back."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He seemed to ponder my answer, cocked his head to one side in that cute way he had and inquired with a melting look from huge blue eyes, "Can't I stay here with you? _Please._"

I didn't think Emma would approve, but she wasn't here after all, and the last I wanted was to be stuck with a distraught little boy, so I said firmly, "Yes. If you promise you'll be good and sleep."

He assumed his thinking pose again and nodded slowly. "Okay. But you have to sing me a song."

With that, he clambered onto the sofa beside me.

"Me? Sing? Give me a break, mate. I'll read you a story, okay?"

"No!"

"Two stories?" I offered, fished for the folded blanket draped over the side of the next armchair and wrapped it around him. "Or as many as it takes until you're asleep?"

"No, you must _sing!"_

"I haven't been singing for God knows how long, Henry", I muttered, pulling a plush ottoman closer to put up my leg.

Unperturbed, he insisted, _"Sing!"_

"Okay, okay, I'll sing. In a minute." I raised my palms in surrender and tried to think of something other than the unsuitably bloody murder ballads and the raucous sea shanties that came to my mind. Dirty drinking songs wouldn't do either, I guessed. Heavens, there _had_ to be some song I knew with nice, harmless lyrics and a tune that wouldn't be beyond my meagre talent.

Henry squealed eagerly "Sing, Mick! Sing!" while I kept racking my brains in vain.

And suddenly, there it was, an image from way down the years.

Another man, another child. The roles reversed.

My father's familiar figure at my bedside, a warm rough voice, a hand smoothing an unruly lock of hair from my face, and the bittersweet tune that lulled me into sleep every night.

I cleared my throat and began to sing, if you can call it that, in a low tentative voice.

"_Speed, bonny boat, like a bird on the wing  
__Onward, the sailors cry  
__Carry the lad that's born to be king  
__Over the sea to Skye …"_

Henry, who had lain down with his head in my lap, his teddy bear in the crook of his arm, smiled and pressed his face into my sweater while I gently stroked the soft skin at the back of his neck.

Before I had finished the second verse, he had slipped away into the realm of dreams with my stomach for a pillow. A small foot had slid out from under the blanket, and I tucked it back in so he wouldn't get cold.

I looked down on him with a feeling of tenderness and love and something else, a twinge of longing deep within.

There was something infinitely endearing about the sleeping child. Warm affection flooded me and made me want to cuddle him to bits.

I resisted the urge but put my arms around him loosely, immensely touched by his peaceful face and the trustful way he had accepted that his mother was away and I was looking after him for the time being.

Once more the unbidden question rose in my mind.

Would I ever enjoy this closeness with a child of my own flesh and blood?

Maybe it was just a whim of the moment that I felt I wanted to be a father after all. There were plenty of arguments against it – our age, Evelyn's love for her profession and the fact that she still was the main breadwinner, her dislike of all things housewifey. And my disability with all its ramifications. I had no idea how my health was going to shape up in five, or ten, or fifteen years. What if my current bad spell was not just a short passing episode but the beginning of a downward spiral, my mobility decreasing rapidly as I grew older? What if I'd be unable to do much more than sing lullabies and read bedtime stories, unable to do as much as carry a fussy baby around or to take a walk with an older child?

I certainly didn't want my children to be constantly required to make allowance for their father's physical limitations.

Things were certainly better the way they were.

I glanced down at Henry's flushed cheeks and tousled hair and suddenly realized with a fierce stab of regret that I might well have a family now if things had taken a different turn.

The child Rosie had not wanted to have would be fourteen years old now – well advanced on the way to adulthood, getting into fierce arguments with us about outfits or school grades or pocket money, maybe experiencing first love.

At the time, I had been devastated to hear that she had gone to see an abortionist, but as my grief subsided, I had told myself there was still plenty of time, that I would have a family one fine day.

I would surely have started a family with Nell, if I had not made the fatal decision to leave her for half a year, long enough for things to change so terribly and irreversibly.

I had been afraid I might get her pregnant the one and only time we had made love, but perhaps this momentary calamity would have saved us the tragic end our romance had come to.

I would have returned to France quickly and stayed there with her. We would have got married. I would not have gone to war.

I would still have both legs, and a family, too, I thought ruefully.

Henry chose this very moment to stir and mumble something dozy that sounded like "Daddy?"

My throat constricted for a second before I whispered, "It's only me, Henry. Go back to sleep."

He blinked at me drowsily, closed his eyes and murmured, "Sing."

I smiled wryly and intoned the _Skye Boat Song_ once more, focusing on the words and the melody and the little figure in my arms instead of old sorrow and regrets.

* * *

It was after ten o'clock when I parked the car at the curb outside the Schells' house and let myself in with the key Emma had given me.

She had wanted me to leave her alone at the hospital, had said she wanted to wait until Conrad's appendectomy was done, to see for herself that things had gone according to plan and he was alright.

I had reluctantly agreed and promised to be back around midnight. It had not felt right to abandon her in the dreary hospital corridor, but she had insisted that I go, so I had left. Maybe she was one of those people who preferred to deal with their worries on their own, to shed their tears without anyone looking on, and found my presence more disturbing than reassuring.

I tiptoed down the hall as not to wake Henry who was hopefully asleep by now and permitted Mick to get some much-needed rest. He had looked rather exhausted already when I came home, and he had been walking very badly when we set out to help Emma in her misery.

The living-room door was not quite closed. A thin strip of light was visible through the crack, and I was surprised when thought I heard a low voice sing. Mick didn't listen to music a lot any more, and I certainly didn't think he'd have switched on the radio in a foreign home.

Maybe I had just imagined it.

I opened the door without making a sound and remained frozen in the doorway, utterly moved by what I saw, and heard.

I had not been mistaken.

There was Mick on the sofa, unaware of my presence, bathed in the golden glow of a table lamp. His pose was weary, slumped into the thick cushions, his bad leg resting on an overstuffed footstool. He was looking older than his years tonight, his face worn and marked by the pain that had plagued him all day, his hair messy and curling wildly over the collar of his heavy blue knit sweater and around the ears, but he appeared more relaxed than before, and all focused on Henry.

Henry who lay cradled safely in his arms, snuggled against his chest, sleeping while Mick softly sang to him in a slightly hoarse voice, a simple melody that gently rose and fell and touched me deeply, as much as the sight of the two of them did.

It was unusual for me to feel this way. I was not by nature a motherly person. There were some kids I liked quite well, there were some I utterly detested, but usually I didn't much care about children one way or the other.

I had never been one of those girls who pounced on every toddler they encountered and endlessly fussed about them, and I had never felt a great desire to have children myself.

Mick had never expressed any wish to start a family either. We had never even discussed the subject, and I, for my part, didn't feel any need to.

Yet the peaceful image Mick and Henry presented struck a hidden chord within me, and suddenly there was a picture in my mind of Mick bending over his own sleeping baby with this sweet affectionate expression that softened his features now.

Where on earth had that vision come from?

I shook it off and stepped into the room, whispering a greeting when there was a pause in Mick's song.

He looked up at me and smiled wordlessly in response.

The second I sat down next to him and kicked off my pinching shoes, I realized how exhausted I was. I didn't even want to talk.

"How's Conrad?" Mick asked quietly after a little while, a hint of worry in his eyes.

"He was still in the OR when I left, but they said it's a routine procedure and he'll be fine in no time."

"Good. Thank God." He relaxed perceptibly.

I moved closer to him, drew up my legs and rested my head against his, watching him tug the blanket that had slipped off Henry's shoulder back into place with so much care that I felt once more strangely emotional.

Cautiously, I extended a hand and ran it gently down the boy's back. He shifted a bit and I withdrew, afraid I had woken him up, but he kept sleeping soundly.

I ventured to stroke his cheek, marveling at the softness of his skin, his cute little nose and his lovely long eyelashes, and found myself wondering if a child of ours would have Mick's green-golden eyes or my red hair or the strong temper both of us had.

This time, I didn't push the thought away.


End file.
